Cape Cod Kisses

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

CAPE COD KISSES

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2015 Bayside Books, LLC

V1.0

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover Design: Natasha Brown

BAYSIDE BOOKS, LLC

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

SHELLEY WALTERS STOOD on the porch of the Rockwell Resort honeymoon cottage, gazing out at Cape Cod Bay. Silver ribbons of moonlight reflected off the dark water, dancing with the motion of the tide.

She stepped from the porch onto the beach with a bottle of champagne in one hand and her cell phone in the other, and dug her toes into the sand. She was a lightweight when it came to alcohol, but she liked carrying the bottle instead of a glass. It felt more celebratory. More fun.

A cool breeze brushed her dress over her thighs.

This place is perfect for a honeymoon
. Seven full days and six nights of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Her phone vibrated with a call.
Taryn,
her cousin and closest friend.

“I was just about to text you to let you know that I’m finally here,” Shelley said as she sank down to sit in the sand and sipped the champagne.
Mm. Those Rockwells don’t skimp on a thing
. While researching places to honeymoon, Shelley had learned that the Rockwell family had owned the resort—and the island—for generations.

“How great is the island?”

Shelley pictured her cousin in her design studio, her long dark hair pinned up in a messy bun with a pencil securing it in place and a wide smile on her lips. With most women, Shelley felt like an accessory.
Rochelle Walters, sole heir to the diamond dynasty Walters Enterprises.
Her name carried weight in the social circles she worked hard to avoid—and that others clawed their way into. Luckily, Taryn didn’t care one whit about wealth or social status.

“The honeymoon cottage is just as cute as the pictures online.” Shelley sighed dreamily as she looked out over the water. “And it’s right on the beach, with the most amazing view of the bay.”

“I’m so glad you decided to do this for yourself, Shell. You’re my hero for even thinking up something as great as a solo honeymoon, let alone actually doing it!”

Shelley loved running her coffee shop, the Creek Café, and she wasn’t so overly stressed by it that she’d needed time away from her everyday life. But after watching what felt like half the single women in Maryland get married and then hearing all about their fabulous honeymoons, she’d decided she wanted one. A honeymoon, that is, not a marriage. She had yet to see a marriage where the husband and wife loved each other more than they loved material things and the idea of being married, but the honeymoons sounded spectacular.

Shelley had always followed her own path through life, letting gut instincts and her heart lead the way. So, having thrown societal norms out the window long ago, she threw caution to the wind yet again, stopped waiting for Mr. Right, and booked a solo honeymoon.

Over the years Taryn had supported all of Shelley’s whims, like moving to Maryland, buying the coffee shop, and refusing any monetary help from her parents. In fact, Taryn had made the beautiful, strapless, lacy dress that Shelley had on tonight, and she was glad she was getting to share some of the joy of being on Rockwell Island with her cousin.

“Coming in on the plane, I got a spectacular view of the whole island. It’s like paradise. I saw two marinas, a lighthouse, and lots of little ponds.”

“Kettle ponds probably,” Taryn said excitedly. “They’re common around the Cape.”

“The Cape,” Shelley repeated. “I’ve always loved the sound of that.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “There are also miles of beaches and several pools at the resort. The Rockwell Island Resort is big and fancy, but the staff is so warm and friendly that it isn’t snooty, like all those over-the-top resorts my parents dragged me to when I was growing up.”

“I can’t picture your parents ever vacationing anywhere near Cape Cod,” Taryn agreed.

“Only Aunt Marla would,” Shelley said.

Shelley’s best memories from childhood were of her weeks spent in Eastham, on the Cape with her aunt—the perfect break from the exhausting jet-set life her parents lived. One that truly had no place in it for raising or nurturing a daughter. Especially not a free spirit like Shelley. But with Aunt Marla, Shelley had spent wonderfully lazy hours looking for sea glass and meandering through the small towns. They’d cooked meals over outdoor fires and had gone fishing at the spur-of-the-moment. Aunt Marla had been the polar opposite of her sister, Shelley’s mother—spontaneous rather than rigid—and Shelley missed her aunt every day since she’d passed away five years earlier.

“Sometimes,” Shelley admitted in a low voice, “I used to pretend that I was actually her daughter.”

“Anyone would have,” Taryn said, as supportive as ever. “Marla was such a wonderful person.”

Saltwater spraying from a wave crashing to the shore helped bring Shelley back to the beach she was sitting on. It should have been easy to push the uncomfortable thoughts of her parents away, given that she’d been doing it forever. She’d had to in order to break free from their grasp and live her own life. And yet she couldn’t deny that it still hurt to realize she’d never fit in with the two people on earth who should have loved her most of all.

“So...” Taryn said, and Shelley knew what her cousin was going to say even before the words, “give me the lowdown on the hunky male options,” left her mouth.

Just then Shelley spotted an older man being pushed in a wheelchair down the beach by a tall, exotic-looking blonde. A golden retriever padded alongside them.
Perfect
. Teasing Taryn was more fun than trying to convince her cousin that men weren’t all they were chocked up to be.

“Actually,” Shelley said, “I see one of the local men right now. He’s got a golden retriever, and he’s heading up the beach.”

“And?” Taryn sounded excited. “I need more details.”

The old man said something that caused the blonde to stop pushing the wheelchair. He patted his legs, and the dog put its fluffy paws on his knees and stuck its muzzle toward him. The man held its head with both hands and kissed it on the top of its snout.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Shelley whispered.

“Sweet?” Taryn made a sound of disgust. “Sweet is not exactly alpha material. I was hoping you were going to say how sexy he was.”

Shelley laughed. “No, definitely not sexy. But he just stopped to kiss his dog, and it
was
really sweet.” She watched the woman turn the wheelchair around and head back the way they’d come. “Anyway, I’m here for a solo honeymoon, not to scope out the hunky island men, remember?”

It had been ages since Shelley had been close with a man. Most of the guys she met reminded her of her father—all business. Finding someone who wasn’t afraid to live life
and
had a mind of his own was like playing an impossible game of Where’s Waldo? She was done with that whole disappointing scene.

“Come on, Shell,” Taryn replied, clearly undeterred. “No one on Rockwell Island knows you, so why not cut loose, meet a guy, and get a little wild for a night or two? You usually throw caution to the wind, but not when it comes to guys. Why not live a little?”

“Because all the men I’ve ever met wouldn’t know how to go with the flow if a good time came with a map.” Shelley sipped more champagne. “Besides, I
am
cutting loose. The resort left champagne in my cottage, and it is delish. I think I’m going to take a walk on the beach now and dip my toes in the water.”

“Okay, but be careful of sharks.”

“I’m almost positive that sharks don’t swim in the bay, but if I meet any on land, I’ll definitely let you know.”

“Steer clear of those, but promise me you’ll have some fun. Go skinny-dipping or do something crazy, okay? And if a great guy does happen to come along, at least
think
about giving him a chance.”

After hanging up, Shelley took another sip of champagne. She probably should have eaten dinner, but it was almost nine p.m., and she was far more interested in exploring the island than eating. She watched the woman and old man move farther down the beach, and then she headed off in the opposite direction.

The last thing she wanted this week was to think about men. A solo honeymoon meant Shelley could enjoy the things she wanted,
exactly
how she wanted them, without being told where to go and what to do by anyone. Taryn knew that, but she still had hope that the right guy was out there somewhere.

Shelley wasn’t holding her breath.

But skinny-dipping? That sure sounded like fun...

QUINN ROCKWELL PACED across the plush carpeting in the resort suite with his cell phone pressed to his ear and his other hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to his business partner lay into him about leaving Annapolis.

“We’re on the brink of the merger of a lifetime, and you leave town with nothing more than an e-mail telling me you’ll be in touch?”

Richard Bailey had been Quinn’s business partner since day one. After graduating from Stanford, he and Rich had set out together, bound and determined to build a shipping empire to rival all others. Rockwell Bailey Enterprises, RBE, was a leader in the industry, and the impending merger with Capital Freight Management would solidify their untouchable stature. Both Rich and Quinn wanted this merger, and they wanted it bad. But for Quinn, it wasn’t just building the business that was driving his crazy hours and laser focus on the merger. He hadn’t talked with Rich about the feeling he’d been fighting lately, that he was spinning his wheels running their company. They were more successful than ever, and he should have been happier, more satisfied with his life. Quinn hoped this merger would bring back the excitement he’d felt in the early days of building RBE.

“You know this is a huge inconvenience to me, Rich, coming back to the island where I grew up.” And couldn’t wait to leave. “I’m not here because I
want
to be.”

“I still don’t get it. Your bullheaded grandfather demands that you and your brothers drop what you’re doing and run back to appease whatever whim he’s got going, and even though you’re thirty-four years old, for some reason you still go.”